Faults
by Angelada
Summary: Dangerous, foolish, generous, noble by design Alistair …and despite his many faults, he was far too good to her. And surely far too good for her.
1. Chapter 1

_Right, so I tried something new, and I've always wanted to experiment with the dynamics of a Anora-Alistair marriage, so... This is the result. I'm curious how I did, so if you have any thoughts, feel free to share!_

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There were times when Anora truly despised Alistair's noble character- his noble sentiments, coupled with his stubbornness, often lead to highly unwanted complications. On more than one occasion, when confronted with dealing with those complications, she found herself wishing he were the naïve boy-king people often assumed he was, and thus more susceptible to her manipulation.

That would have been easier.

As always, the reality was always more complicated.

Alistair was as dedicated to the crown as one could hope, he was a quick learner and continued to impress with his ability to adapt even under the most unfavourable of circumstances. He was also, by no means -no matter how much he liked to embrace the role- a fool.

He was unquestionably noble; kind to a fault, as some have said. Usually, Anora was inclined to agree to that- though never publicly, which would cast doubt onto their already suspect marriage. The fact remained that the new king did not know how to bend his principles for the sake of politics, loudly dismissing the thought of such a thing. Nor did he, apparently, possess the strength to turn a blind eye in matters of the court of less than high moral standard. The queen scoffed at this, acquainted all too well with the ugly truths of life. Not everyone could be saved, not every injustice could be righted, or starving child offered help- not even if one wore the crown of a country. He himself probably realised that as well, but it did not deter him from trying.

Many nobles looked at the queen in disapproval when such things happened, much to her dismay. She was, after all, just as displeased as they- if not more so- when her husband missed the feast of a ceremony to run and visit the city's slums in peasant clothes. "To help." he'd say, and she would only see another Cailan driven by a wish to prove himself a hero just as strong. If people had known the two of them like she did, there would have never been talk of illegitimacy when Alistair was proposed as king. To her, it was painfully obvious he was Cailan's brother. The similarities made her more than uneasy. Granted, Cailan's taste for heroics were more about the dangers and glory of a good fight, than about the elves in the Alienage or the lack of food thanks to the recent Blight. But Alistair was not usually opposed to that other kind of endeavour, either.

In any case, to blame Anora for not stopping his small campaigns was simply absurd.

Indeed, Anora did not encourage such behaviours in her husband, and was plenty bothered by Alistair's unwillingness to cooperate most days.

Of course, that affirmation also implied that there were times when she did not mind it, a presumption not entirely without merit that she came to realise quite soon into their marriage, much to her own surprise.

(Secretly, so deep down even she had a hard time seeing it, she also could not help but admire his devotion, to both his country and his moral code, if only in the slightest measure.)

Unlike Cailan, Alistair truly tried and managed- mostly- to help. It was heartening for people to see their king so eager to aid them with their plights and listen to their troubles, and he never once came back with the wish to gloat about his deeds. She was always informed of what exactly those deeds were by the guards loyal to her long before the time he came see her, and it was perplexing how little of his admittedly good, generous work he told her about. When people kept things to themselves, it was not usually the admirable acts they choose to hide, but rather the opposite. She could truthfully say had never been lied to in the way he lied before, an impressive thing indeed.

He had insisted the bruises on his legs were because he'd fallen off his horse on the way back to the castle, despite the fact he had never fallen off his horse in recorded history.

(Sir Brann informed her the king had gotten them in his rush to save a boy from a rabid dog just outside the city limits. The man had no reason to lie.)

Yes, her husband was truly something, and the poorest liar she'd ever seen, although that might be excusable, given the circles she grew up in.

For some unfathomable reason, she didn't think less of him for it- quite the opposite.

Naturally, she never commented on it. She had seen many times over the effect that compliments, even ones given reluctantly, could have on a man's ego. And the last time Anora had offered Alister anything resembling praise he had pestered her with jabs about it for days.

She wondered, though, about the fact that she had never seen him smile so often until that time or since (did he really smile so rarely since they wed? That was upsetting for some reason), and about the moment she started to notice such things. She hadn't cared enough to worry for someone since Cailan, and for Alistair to make her almost feel such- ah, but that was preposterous! Such trouble simply because she'd told him he looked presentable before the meeting with Arl Eamon some weeks before. It had been a simple, cold observation, not an elegy to his beauty- even if he had looked reasonably better than 'presentable'.

She also wondered later, briefly, how many others have been more honest and generous with words at the feast they attended that night, if only because of the way he smiled when he guided her away after all was over.

(Surely, her words could not have been the cause for his many smiles for the days that followed.)

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"I should hurt him." She muttered, wrestling with her skirts to climb into the carriage without sullying them. The steps to climb, few as they were, were damp and somehow muddy, and she could not exactly see them properly in the dim light of dusk. She had grown too accustomed to being escorted by Alistair, it seemed.

Her heavy over-skirts threatened to spill from her lithe fingers, and she tightened her hold to prevent it. Anora knew she ought to ask one of the guards to help her, but she had too much pride to do such a thing. Everyone waited for her to climb inside for them to leave, but no one, not even her dear handmaid, commented. It would not be their place, especially with her in such a sour mood.

Alistair was late.

He was late for the naming of the newest Arl of West Hills.

He was late for taking the carriage with her.

He was late, and the last time she'd seen him, he had assured her that the city's forces would wipe out the bandits recently settled around the West Road, though he only took three guards with him.

She vowed to hate him for eternity should it be discovered that the king was killed by bandits and dumped in a ditch somewhere. And even if that was not the case, the fact that he was still late, and forcing her to make an entrance before the other nobles alone, remained a valid reason for her anger.

'Such a thing would never happen were she a better wife', they would silently accuse again at the festivities.

Somehow, she did not think they were right.

Alistair was far too stubborn for her to control, whatever way she tried to do it. Playing a good wife would gain her little, or cost her all.

They might have been right about it not helping that Anora was not amongst his favourite people, though they'd managed to remain civil for quite a while. (The responsibilities and burdens of rebuilding a country helped to that end, ironically enough.)

Irrelevant- why was she stalling? It wasn't as though she had to climb a mountain, and it was surely not because she feared meeting the court unescorted. Her fingers hurt.

"Wait! Hold it, I'm back!" She heard, and the gates opened noisily. "I'm here." There was commotion and some murmuring between the servants as they parted ways to let him pass, and Anora dared let her grip loosen.

(So that was why.)

Anora frowned as to not show any relief at the loud calls of her husband. Alistair came running down the stairs with his shirt half untucked and his red hair damp and wild. Evidently, he had just managed to bath away the dirt he was always covered in after his trips before appearing, and had dressed in a rush.

She was still glad to see him despite herself, and silently waited for him outside the carriage, one foot on a wooden step.

"Forgive me, Anora, I know I said I'd be back on time." He apologised almost sheepishly, and she was forced to bite down the harsh remarks she'd prepared for him. It was unreasonable how his sincerity could placate her, so she said nothing to assure him of her mood and simply placed her arm on his elbow.

As if it would help put the whole situation behind them, he jumped to help her, getting her inside with ease. She straightened her clothes as she lowered herself onto the comfortable bench and motioned firmly for the carriage to go at once- the castle's walls disappeared from view slowly as they sat silently and tensely.

Anora knew Alistair was nervous about her reaction to his carelessness, and she let him worry and fidget and agonise, since he deserved the discomfort.

"The Arl had prepared a special banquet for your benefit especially." She commented easily, but with enough strength that he could not disregard them for simple chatter. "I do not appreciate being put in such embarrassing situations. Don't make such foolish mistakes again."

Alistair inhaled slowly, and she could feel his eyes on the back of her head as she kept hers to the window.

Carefully ordinary, she offered one last aside. "I've been informed he'd even imported fine cheese from the Anderfels for the occasion by the Lady Dayn herself."

And with that, Alistair knew his misbehaviour was forgiven- or at least put out of mind.

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Arl Gallagher Wulff was not generally one for such grand public displays, but Anora supposed the Blight had a way of making people do stranger things than throw a party to celebrate the restoration of peace. The Arl himself had lost two sons to the chaos, and for a brief moment his Arling as well- it was only proper that he wished to show his gratitude, and he was-and had always been- a powerful man and a valuable ally. The queen was more than pleased that he was so openly supportive of Alistair's -and by extension her- rule.

The gathering was larger than expected either way, and Anora was grateful that Alistair managed to make himself look more put together on the way to the Arl's estate near Denerim, thankfully spared from darkspawn.

"You weren't kidding about the cheese." Said Alistair, and she could just see his fingers twitching to reach for some. He managed to refrain until after the Arl greeted them, to his credit, although the manner in which he ate it was far from proper for a man of his standing. Anora was confident she was not supposed to find that endearing, and blamed her odd behaviour on the oddity of the man at the centre of it.

The queen allowed herself to mingle with the nobles and made sure to pay close attention to any information that could potentially be used later, as she always did.

Bann Alfstanna commented on her healthy complexion, and inquired if the king had anything to do with it, as they were still in their first year of marriage. It was not an ill-intentioned comment. The woman had no particular care for Anora, and it was not as though she'd openly asked her if 'They were working on an heir yet,' as some have done before. Yet it reminded her of the precarious situation she was in all the same. In a few short years she would enter her thirties, after all, and she had no child of her own. The sadness of the possibility that she might be infertile was trying enough for any woman, even without all her life's work in the balance, or the fate of a country.

Her smiles proved much more difficult to maintain after that conversation, but she was well-practiced in doing so. It was not 'easy'- that was not the word she would use- but it was familiar.

She took part in apparently meaningless conversation, occasionally spying on Alistair to see how he was faring- he was doing surprisingly well considering how the evening started- and listened patiently when necessary.

She tired quickly of the game, though, and waited until it was appropriate to excuse herself to find her husband when the hour was late enough for them to go. The man would miss the food, but he would be glad to be rid of the rest.

Or not.

The young Lady Izot, it seemed, had managed to talk with Alistair alone, just before Anora came to tell him they should make their departure for the night, and Anora was well-aware of the way the woman looked at her husband. He was a handsome- and most powerful- man. When the brunette managed to make him laugh- he had such a sound laugh, one could hear it from rooms away- Anora knew she should have carefully stepped aside. She knew _that_ game as well, and it was always better that she did not make a scene if her husband happened to extend his favour to another woman.

Cailan had had his women too, after all, and while there had been months since their wedding and Alistair had never showed any interest in anyone before, she had no reason not to expect it- she could only hope he could be discreet in handling the affair, if nothing else.

Anora's impulsive nature –one of her traits that made her both formidable and liable to weakness - betrayed her before she realised it, and she found herself cutting into their conversation before she could stop herself.

Alistair seemed somehow reluctant to leave the lovely brunette, and it twisted something in Anora's gut to confirm her suspicion. The first time Cailan had given himself away like that it had hurt too, though she wondered why with Alistair it was the same.

Not 'why he too was weak' in the way men sometimes were, but 'why she felt betrayed' when it happened. With Cailan she had been able to make peace with his transgressions early on, and he, she had loved.

She supposed it was exactly because of the way Alistair was different- even if Cailan had the royal upbringing, he was never quite as morally righteous as Alistair. Perhaps, in a small way, she had expected more from a man who cared so much for the wellbeing of his people- of the actual persons under him- and not for his image and achievements in the world. Although, she supposed, one hardly needs more fame or acknowledgement after having helped stop a Blight and slay an Archdemon.

None who knew the details of how their union came to pass could possibly expect Alistair to honour their vows as though he loved her, least of all Anora (and she never did)- but it would have been something characteristic of him, and him only, to do so anyway.

He'd never had any desire for the marriage, or even the crown. He got them both.

Daughter of a man he loathed, not purely innocent herself (she bemoaned her choice to turn against the Wardens and her now-husband at the Landsmeet too many times to count, and she feared he would never forget what she'd done). As one who'd offered him nothing other than mistrust and coldness, she often wondered grimly for what reasons he had agreed to the arrangement in the first place.

If it was for the purpose of peace, or becoming king, she could have served him just as well with her death – as some loudly demanded- or cast out of the Fereldan court.

Of course, her experience was useful, as Alistair himself said to her one occasion. Nonetheless, it seemed unlikely that he would sacrifice so much of his happiness for a slightly more united Fereldan, when he could have achieved similar result by himself, thanks to his role in recent history and his alliance with the Wardens.

She remembered her wedding day- the second one. It had been a tense ordeal, one she bore through with less dignity than was proper, all the while cursing her fate. She'd sold her hand in marriage to preserve her position, and she had done so willingly, but she had not wished for it. It had been necessary, though, for herself and –at the risk of sounding prideful and arrogant- for Fereldan as well.

She also remembered how Alistair had tried to hold her hand during the ceremony, and the brutality with which she refused to allow it. There was little wonder he would seek affection elsewhere, then or later, when she could not give him any. It had been her decision from the start, of course, as she had learned all too well how blind affection could render a person. It was not a weakness she could afford again. Not when Alistair was proving to be far more dedicated to his responsibilities as king than Cailan ever cared to be, and no matter how he claimed to dislike his new role at first.

It became apparent to Anora the only reason Alistair thought so at the outset, was simply because he thought himself unfit to rule, lacking her experience or Cailan's easy charm and way with people. He was learning though, and shaping himself to be a good, capable king.

It made things infinitely harder than she'd expected. They've been announced as equal partners in the marriage, so it was no longer in his power to cast her away. She did not feel assured by that. It still seemed possible, if not probable, that she would be discarded once Fereldan had a proper king and she was no longer needed. It had been his brother's right, once. It was the reason the news of Cailan's plans with Empress Celene disturbed her so deeply.

She had thought she could always count on Alistair's nobility, at least in avoiding a repeat of that, but could she?

(Hadn't she also thought she could count on Cailan's love and respect for her, too?)

Alistair had refused her on their wedding night and claimed a room for himself in another wing of the castle that first time, and for the next weeks after. She had been relieved at first, although it had hurt her pride still that he would find her so undesirable.

His hesitance to share her bed and consummate their marriage had not been unexpected, though. Alistair proved himself not above letting his emotions get the best of him, despite his complete, unwavering dedication to Fereldan, and he was not pleased with a marriage to someone such as she.

When they did consummate their union, it had felt strange and far too new- to both of them.

Cailan had somehow been a better lover, she suspected, but it had been far too long since he'd paid her such attentions for her to remember clearly. She had been far too focused on the fact that her new husband was naked before her- too lost in the implications of the act- to pay attention to the way everything felt. And perhaps, this time she could have a child. (The thought invaded her mind too fiercely to banish it straight away, or the hope that came with it.)

With that out of the way and the two of them irrevocably married, everything changed, however slightly.

Alistair came to her bed every night, though he rarely touched her. Unlike Cailan, who slept besides her only sporadically, and started missing longer and longer periods of time after their first two years of marriage, only to almost stop visiting altogether sometime in their fourth one, Alistair came every day.

It was absurdly mundane and even intrusive on some level, since she was used to her privacy. It was the royal bedroom, she reasoned, she could hardly ask him why he did it, or to stop sleeping there, and he gave the impression of not noticing anything amiss with their new routine.

As if he did not know the usual order of things in the castle.

Perhaps not.

Still, he came to their bed every night, even if that bed was hers alone for so long- a husband's privilege no longer desired. It had… made her happy, in a strange sort of way, almost appreciated. Recognised.

She was the queen; his body beside hers was her privilege. The warmth of him at her back was hers to feel, as well as the heat of his needs, should he came to her to fulfill them. Because she could have both, she was above any other body in a sea of women willing to serve him. It was with her that he woke up; she was the one who knew he sometime snored, and how to do so that he stopped. Her privileges alone, a wife's privileges.

"I think it would be rude to leave just yet."

Or, again, perhaps not.

"You can go socialise some more- I'll be along as soon as I've finished talking with the lady." He didn't sound angry, but he spoke firmly. Whatever he had struggled with before, he had made up his mind about staying. Clearly, she had been bested. Lady Izot knew it too.

The queen nodded wordlessly, protesting further would be useless and would embarrass them all.

It did not seem fair. He was her husband. He shared her bed. He asked for her advice. Had she read too much into it?

She seems she had. How unwise of her- she would make a fool of herself by forgetting what marriage to a king entitled.

She corrected her mistake immediately, with a tight smile and a swift departure.

(He was her King. It was always fair. It was within his rights.)

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"Your Majesty." Her handmaiden greeted, her head slightly bowed.

"Tell the carriage driver to wait by the horses for now, my husband wishes to stay a while more." She paused, considering her next order. "Bring me another cup of wine too, Erlina."

"Yes, my queen, right away." She did not linger, and Anora was grateful. Sometimes, Erlina saw too much of what Anora did not want seen, and the queen did not feel like taking the extra precautions to prevent that at the time.

When she had her wine, Anora simply dismissed the elf and allowed her features to fall back into an expression of calm boredom. She made sure not to brood or think too hard on what had happened or what it would mean for her marriage should Alistair take a mistress. (It was too unlikely he would discard the woman after just one night).

No, that would be Anora getting ahead of herself, especially considering Alistair had not actually done anything yet.

"We can go now."

Anora raised an eyebrow when he approached her only a quarter of an hour later.

"You shall return to the castle for the night, then?" Somehow, she imagined he might quietly ask her to leave without him and send for a carriage to bring him back later. It pleased her that he wanted to make his departure with her, yet she worried what that meant as well, and particularity if Lady Izot would join them.

Maker, she hoped that was not the case, and that he would arrange for that carriage for her, instead. Anora could tolerate many things if necessary, but she would rather not see her husband stealing glances at the woman while she sat beside him.

"Of course, why wouldn't I?" He almost sounded puzzled that she'd asked, which meant he either hadn't thought the question through or he didn't see why his personal affairs would intervene with his usual schedule. Anora quickly ended the conversation there. She had no desire to know which of those it was.

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Alistair did not join her in their room immediately after they reached the castle, as the chief of the guards he'd assigned to clear the West Road earlier had returned and came to report. Anora accepted Alistair's mumbled apologies with cold politeness and simply went on to start her nightly routine so she could sleep.

The day had been long and trying and she did not particularly care if he thought her rude.

She considered changing the tapestries once Alistair moved out of the bedchamber while she bathed. The ones that hung at the moment were a bright blue Anora personally detested, but Alistair loved. He had been the one to choose them, after all. She didn't argue about it only because he seemed to like them so much. He had the habit of letting his eyes linger on them while he thought.

(Secretly, she thought it was because the colour reminded him so much of the Grey Wardens.)

After she was done bathing and changing she dismissed the maids, as well as Erlina. If she was fortunate, Anora would have a couple of hours of solitude before Alistair came back.

In a week or two, she might have a lot more than that.

It could be for the best, she had grown too used to his company.

She sat to brush her hair at the vanity, like she always did. The movements were easy and calming for the mind. Her long blonde hair poured down her back in waves because of the strict braids she'd pulled it in and she took great care to straighten every curl as she worked. Tomorrow, she would go through the process again, as it would not be proper for the Queen to wear her hair down like a commoner. It was an exercise that bred perseverance.

She counted as she went- one hundred movements for every strand of hair. Sometimes it took hours.

He came back when she was half-way done. If he thought less of her for seeing her while she put herself together, he never commented.

Not that she ever commented when she happened to notice dark circles under his eyes, or even darker whispers muttered in his sleep.

When he went to shed his clothes without sparing her a glance, she resumed counting.

"You seem upset." Normally, his hesitancy to voice such things carried in his voice, but he did not seem unsure as he spoke this time. It was a simple sentence, spoken frankly.

She wanted to reply that he seemed awfully concerned for someone who had happily ignored and completely disregarded her the entire day, but that would have been far too telling. Alistair had the talent of being perceptive at the most inopportune of moments, and she would rather not endanger exposing the extent or the origin of her discontent to him.

"You are imagining it." She assured, with just a bit too much steel.

"Anora." He frowned, and she frowned in return. She refused to be chastised by him. "I am not imagining it."

"Should that be true, what good it would do to talk about it?"

He opened his mouth to answer, closed it, frustrated, and pursed his lips.

"My point exactly." She restarted her count. Alistair sighed and sat himself heavily on the bed, his pants and shirt still the unchanged, his hand through his hair.

"Maker, Anora, we're married, we could at least try to be civil to each other." He didn't sound angry, just tired, and Anora found she felt much like he did. She put away her comb and gathered her still messy mass of hair over one shoulder as she turned to face him properly.

"It's nothing I have any right to be upset over." She finally confessed. Her tone, she was very careful, was cool and dismissive. "Nor is it anything you can do something about."

That was a lie, of course. He was the only one who could do anything about it, yet he would not do it. She would not ask it of him, even if he would listen.

It would hardly do to take away what he wanted- what he sometimes needed. He was too valuable to do him such an injustice. Too commendable.

She was not that bitter yet.

Anora would not ask him to sacrifice everything- even such a simple, ordinary pleasure, the pleasure women like Lady Izot could provide. (Nor did she have the right to.)

Alistair was loud, still new in being king and vulnerable to having his kindness taken advantage of in court; he sometimes acted without thinking things through or completely disregarded the laws of propriety- but he did not shirk his duties, as Cailan used to do, and he was a good king, or on his way to being one.

If he needed something to help him cope with all the pressure, and if that something happened to be a mistress of two, so be it.

Just because she wanted more- respect as a wife, a woman, not just as a queen-

No, that had nothing to do with the arrangement between them and the Warden- she could not ask for more. She wouldn't.

_She was not that bitter._

"You can forget about it."

"Way to make a man feel useless, I'll say." His lips curled slightly upwards as he joked. Months earlier, she would have taken that as a sign of impertinence, but she recognised he was only trying to ease the tension settled around them. It still annoyed her, but she'd learnt to allow it; sometimes it helped. "If you're certain, I'll mind my own business. Just tell me if it's my fault you're mad- I feel it's my fault somehow."

She exhaled slowly. "I'm fine." She meant to say she would be, as soon as she recollected herself.

It was just the first time it hurt, she tried to convince herself.

Sometimes that helped, too.

He furrowed his eyebrows but kept back any other comment, instead remembering he should undress.

(He really was a beautiful man.)

She was perfectly happy to share him with Lady Izot, it didn't really make any difference. She would still have him occasionally, or when he needed political pointers.

It was fine, she told herself again.

It still did not work.

Sometimes; sometimes it helped. Not all times, obviously. She gave up and went to the bed.

Alistair moved over to let her settle in- he was on her side of the bed, after all- and finished changing.

"Lady Izot is not your typical noble's daughter, is she?"

"No, not really." She answered without thought. Anora wondered where he was going with it, and just how transparent she was. "Why do you ask?"

He chuckled and put one a clean shirt. "She asked the oddest questions. I half-suspect she's planning to run away from her father and go live in the wilds. I really hope she didn't eye one of those Avvar near her father's land, though that would explain a lot of her- no, never mind."

That…was not what she'd expected.

"Pardon?"

He narrowed his eyes in thought as he recalled the conversation. "She wanted to know about the consequences of marrying without her father's approval, and about the legitimacy of such an act- particularly if the man was not Fereldan." He shook his head. "I would've really preferred she asked you, but she thought you wouldn't take kindly to having your time wasted so."

The woman said nothing, did nothing- she laid in bed until he joined her. Alistair didn't bother her with any more talk, mistakenly blaming her lack of response on tiredness.

Anora couldn't really fight the intensity of her relief, though. When he shifted in his sleep, hours later, and pulled her close to his chest, she did not grunt in displeasure, like she often did.

When they woke in the morning, she did not pull away first.

When he kissed her chastely in greeting, she couldn't quite ignore the warmth in her bones. She knew he needed the closeness; that he didn't really think about it when he kissed her anymore. Because she knew, she'd allowed it in the first place. It was mostly for his benefit.

He needed it, but maybe she needed it too.

The warmth pointed towards that.

And… should it be revealed she was the one who benefited most from the embrace? He might not even mind.

("To help."- and gone with a grin. He lived not for, but through, his good deeds.)

She didn't know what to think about that. He really was too noble. Dangerous, foolishly, lovably generous, noble by design. (Giving just because he could; giving her everything because his upright mind-set told him an act and a ceremony gave her- the one who'd scorned him, and used him, and disregarded him- the right to it. Giving her so much, when she was already greedy.)

No. For this, he would get something in return. She'd make sure of it.

If she could be selfish there, so could he.

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…

"Anora- I mean- what are you _doing_?" She slid her hand further under his clothes and felt the muscles quiver, just like his voice.

She mouthed a -"Good morning, husband.", against his skin.

_"Oh."_

She smiled.

…

…

…

_In case anyone is wondering, lady Izot is real, she really is the daughter of Arl Gallagher Wulff, and she does have an interesting story regarding eloping and an Avvar man. You can go check, if you don't believe me._

_Also, lots of thanks to my Beta, insatiablecuriosity, I never would have got this to sound right without your wonderful work. :)_


	2. Chapter 2

_So, I couldn't help but try and get in Alistair's head as well, despite the fact I was sure it was not going to happen since I was sure I would mess up his character...Well, what is done is done, he is too wonderful and I couldn't help myself in the end._

_..._

_..._

_..._

Alistair was never good with words. He didn't really enjoy talking, despite his tendency to rant. Truthfully, he'd stumbled his way through conversations more times than he could count- his background wasn't by any means a great place to develop social skills, after all.

That didn't suddenly change once he became king, either.

Oh, they'd tried, of course, but there was only so much even etiquette and speaking teachers could achieve. There was only so much he could change for the court. Still, even with his limited knowledge of language and with his modest vocabulary compared to those born into nobility, he'd figured out what word best described his wife right from the start.

That word was 'intimidating'.

Anora was most definitely intimidating. She was also shrewd, calculated, brilliant in everything she did, uncannily beautiful- and sweet Maker, that was the woman he'd had to marry!

Even standing before the altar beside her on their wedding day, it felt unreal and overwhelming. He couldn't even remember how he'd let himself be dragged into the whole affair- he could feel his palms getting damp and his heart beat far too loudly in his ears. It was like fighting his first darkspawn all over again, just not quite as bloody.

After struggling not to fidget for hours while being scrutinized by the entire noble court of Fereldan, after passing up on eating because dear Maker, what if he used the wrong fork, or the wrong hand, or he choked on something-?

He had thought it couldn't get worse. By the time the festivities were done and over with, it seemed like a reasonable thing to believe, and he simply vowed to never get married again. As if that was feasible. He realised the worst was yet to come soon, though, when he was kindly reminded of that by the loud cheers and sly looks of some of his company as he rose to bid his leave.

Oh…blast it- but of course, it was his wedding night.

If Anora heard any of the comments about lampposts thrown their way, she graciously didn't comment.

They departed- together- and he stood awkwardly as they approached the hall leading to the royal bedchambers.

His first reaction was to flee- ironic, considering he'd never even thought of fleeing when his fellow Warden asked him to stand by his side before the Archdemon. Perhaps Oghren was right all along when he'd claimed women were a different kind of beast entirely. He could suddenly see the wisdom of the dwarf's crude advice. All in all, it was probably a terrible sign.

Just when the door came into view, he found himself stopping, the dead weight in his stomach growing heavier. Anora just turned to look at him questioningly for a second, composed as ever. He froze completely, tense and ready to bolt- in what direction, he was not quite sure.

The problem was, well…The problem was that Alistair had no real experience in what it took to consummate a marriage, and he dreaded stumbling his way through that- of all things- probably more than was sensible.

How could a man admit to not doing 'that' at his age without his ego curling down in a hole somewhere and dying, though? He couldn't.

Anora couldn't quite hide an exasperated sigh, reading his intentions before he actually went through with making his hasty exit.

In the end, he didn't really sleep his wedding night, but for all the wrong reasons.

The new king spent his night some rooms away from his queen, mourning his inexperience and his lack of courage. Would his wife- the word send a tingle of unease even as he thought it- be angry with him the next day for it? Would she bite his head off for shirking his duties? Maybe not- he doubted Anora was truly upset about his sudden disappearance, even if she probably acknowledged the inconvenience of Alistair putting off their first night together. It was not as though she wanted him, or ever could, and the fact it was their wedding night would hardly change anything.

…

…

…

Meeting Anora for breakfast the following day was just as awkward as he'd expected, and not even all the fine food laid before them was enough to ease his stiff posture. His wife was as cold and articulate as always, and she made sure to brief him on what was expected of him that day and the days to follow. It was all a very formal affair; he could already picture how their marriage would likely progress. Cold, distant, appropriate. It frustrated him, somehow.

It all came down to the fact that this was nothing like what he imagined when he thought of marriage. Marriage was about closeness, about support and, well… love. He knew much too well that Anora cared for none of that, not when she'd been so thoroughly hurt by both his brother's death and the news of his betrayal. She'd made it perfectly clear even on their wedding day that she only put up with the marriage in the first place because it was the best thing to do for Fereldan. That, and nothing else.

He was left feeling cheated, though. Anora had loved Cailan, even if their marriage ended as it did, but Alistair never had the chance to experience something like it, and it was unlikely he ever would.

To try to love, in his situation, would be unfair- to everyone involved. Not only would it be risky and would most certainly end badly, but he was married, to a woman that could scare him with her mere presence sometimes, but a woman nevertheless. No matter if she demanded his loyalty or not- and he'd understood she made no claims for it- he needed to respect that simple fact. Their marriage might not be a proper one, but he refused to make a mockery of it. For better or for worse, Alistair did not believe in taking vows lightly, and he intended to hold on to the principles he'd lived by to that day.

What was a king without those, after all?

…

…

…

It took him a long time to convince himself to go to her. Weeks of second-guesses, stalling and putting up with his uncle's inquiries about his new, married, life. By the time he finally found himself inside the bedchamber, he was sweating, his throat was completely dry, and he had no idea what to say to her.

Anora looked at him, seemingly not in the least surprised or bothered by his unannounced visit, and just made her way to the bed. She motioned him closer, and he went on almost shaky legs.

Maker, did he make a mistake thinking he was ready for it. Just seeing her seated carefully on the bed, her hair flowing down her shoulders, looking as calm and in-control as ever- it made him want to run again.

Clearly, if he told her he'd never really been with a woman before, she would laugh, or stare him down in that particular way of hers that he couldn't stand…but whatever she would do, it would probably make him feel more incompetent than ever. It was not like he had a whole lot of confidence to begin with, so he refrained from saying anything.

After all, how hard could it be to sleep with one's wife?

Frighteningly so, he learnt.

His hands quickly lost all their abilities once he saw her starting to undress. His face was probably in flames soon into it, and he'd never been more grateful for low lighting before, as it allowed his to keep at least some of his dignity. When he was done with his clothes, after a long struggle, Anora had to pull him into bed, impatient with his hesitancy. He was mortified with himself when he fell over her, but she, thankfully, didn't complain as he familiarised with her body as best as he could. Old stories shared around the campfire and advice offered in jest buzzed in his head, and it helped some, but it was all still mostly awkward.

Then again, Alistair tried to reassure himself, when was he not awkward?

Still, sometime during his dumb stumbling-and there was no other way to describe it, really- he must have done something right, because she made the most startled, spontaneous, indecent sound he's ever heard.

It made him hot in a wholly surprising, mildly troubling way. She was his wife, so he tried to convince himself he had nothing to be embarrassed about. He was supposed to enjoy her body.

As if to convince himself of that, he kissed her, and he did enjoy it. It didn't help, though, it just made it worse.

Despite everything, it still felt wrong. Kissing her, touching her. She wasn't an enjoyment, after all. She was a person- scary as she sometimes was.

He kissed her again anyway, pushing down his guilt, because she was his wife, and she was the only one he would be able to kiss for the rest of his life. It was not as if she protested, or tried to stop him. Even if she probably didn't get anything from it, she let him kiss her, and kissed him in return. And even if it felt a bit wrong, even if she couldn't care for him, even if it was Anora, he refused to deprive himself completely of human contact, of a woman's touch, for the rest of his life.

He fought an Archdemon, damn it, he didn't deserve that!

He focused on making it as painless and quick as possible for the both of them instead, though he had no idea if he was by any means successful. He tried not to enjoy it too much, even if his head was dizzy and her skin was incredibly soft, and warm, and the small sounds she panted into his ears did strange things to his heartbeat.

He tried a lot of things.

Amidst it all, he realised he liked touching his wife- he liked it a lot, actually.

He managed not to think about it for the rest of the night. He had plenty of time to feel guilty about everything wrong with everything later in the morning.

…

…

…

It took him a while longer to get used to being the King of Fereldan, of all things he could have been, but eventually everything settled down into a somehow comfortable routine.

He learnt to deal with the nobles as well as he could, but mostly he learnt who and when he could get away with avoiding interaction. He dealt with being ill-prepared for his position by working his poor brain to exhaustion and actually listening to the advice of his uncle and Anora, though rarely both on the same subject, considering how often they disagreed on what should be done. Alistair suspected it just came down to proving the other wrong, since the relations between them were not exactly the warmest.

He coped with his thirst for action by regularly going out into the city or the Alienage, usually accompanied by guards, on some occasions dressed as one himself, or even as a commoner.

When he met with Anora at the end of the day, he usually avoided talking about that, though, as he knew she disapproved of his behaviour. The last thing he wanted after a long day- no doubt for the both of them- was to make his wife angry. It was rare that she was in a happy mood as it was- or if not, she hardly looked it.

What was a bit surprising was that they did speak candidly, even with the situation they found themselves in. They hardly spend hours having meaningful conversation, of course, but Anora sometimes let slip significant things or stories about her life without meaning to. Usually, their conversation consisted just of him filling the silence with chatter for a lack of things to do and the queen scoffing or shaking her head at something he said- usually his jokes. Sometimes, she took the time to correct him on something he said; sometimes she even added some ideas of her own into the conversation. Once, he actually made her laugh.

He was proud of that- after all, Anora was not one who laughed easily. It was bloody damn difficult to even get her to truly smile, honestly.

Alistair Theirin: Grey Warden, hero of the Fifth Blight, King of Fereldan- and one of his greatest achievements was that he'd made his wife laugh. It would seem comically pitiful, if one did not know the woman in question.

…

…

…

Alistair frowned.

The new group of bandits camped alongside the West Road was persistent, and they became bolder as their main camp remained untouched even weeks after they started their raids. The situation could not stay the way it was.

"Captain, please choose a couple of your best men and have them armed. I think I would like to deal with this personally." The man looked surprised at the order, but moved to obey.

"Will it really be enough? I could send for-"

"Your reports say that only a small number of men stay to protect the hideout when the raids take place, correct? Six, seven of them?" Alistair cut him off but waited for a confirmation before continuing.

"The two of us and two other men, now that we have the plan of their camp, should be just enough." He addressed the man's concern. "We need to be swift, and there's no point in mobilising the whole guard for a nest of petty thieves. We'll take out the leader and ask the soldiers to pick up the stray bandits after they return only to realise what's happened and the panic sets in."

The Captain felt there were safer courses of action to take, but admitted this one was the fastest way to deal with the pests bothering them for weeks.

They arranged to ride at dawn.

…

…

…

"You plan to do what, exactly?"

Alistair told himself to stand tall and decisive, as a king should, but Anora's glare was powerful, even if he towered over her in stature. Anora wasn't exactly what people would call petite (she usually held herself far too proudly to seem small), and though she could be very feminine, those qualities were often upstaged by her eyes. They were by far the sharpest, harshest thing about her.

"I'll assist in taking care of the bandits raiding the West Road- it shouldn't take long. I should be back before we need to leave for the naming of Arl Wulff." He made sure to add the last part, to assure her he had not forgotten.

"I see." She did not seem pleased, a small frown fighting to make itself known. It was useless, of course, Anora had impeccable control over her expression most of the time. Perhaps that was the reason he was so pleased when he managed to make her mask slip. What was most impressive was that he managed that mostly when he was naked, and probably looked ridiculous. Maybe that was the trick, but he doubted it.

"Goodnight, then- I shall assume you will be leaving in the morning." There was a small pause. "You should sleep. I will not stand for the King falling asleep on himself later tonight."

His thoughts took him to strange places, hearing her say that, but he managed to nod and not give anything away. That was the closest Anora would ever allow herself to get to worrying about him, he knew. Besides, she was right, the King couldn't be caught yawning at the party later that night, no matter if he'd spent most of the day fighting bandits.

"Goodnight."

She pretended not to notice when he drew her into his arms later that night (she was warm and the feel of holding someone while he slept was comforting and addictive after months of sharing a bed), and he was thankful for the silence.

…

…

…

He was late- he was horribly, terribly late.

…and she was going to kill him.

He just knew it.

Those were the only things Alistair could think of as he hurried to get to the gates, his shirt still out of place and his hair a wet mess, and he almost broke his legs running down the stairs. Of course, it was all necessary.

It he could get to Anora before the carriage left, there was a chance she'd spare him yet. If he could do that, then it was definitely worth it.

Of course, the key word in that sentence was 'if'.

"Hold it! I'm here!"

Immediately, some servants held the gates for him, and Alistair could have wept with joy, relieved that he would get to live another day after all.

"I'm here…" He repeated, breathing heavily from the effort of running a considerable distance in admittedly tight pants, and jumped to help Anora finish getting in the carriage before she could berate him for wasting any more of her time.

…

…

…

The feast was nothing special, though Anora had not lied when she'd said they had good cheese on the table. The one thing different from other noble parties was the fact he felt very self-conscious about his somehow unkempt appearance, and that just made him want to get away from the whole event faster.

And as if that wasn't enough, the Bann had an interesting family.

"Your Majesty, how are you enjoying the party?" The daughter ( Lady Izor? Izot? Something like that.) asked as she approached. She was a beautiful enough woman, dark-haired and fair-skinned, but she was one of those noblewomen who were a bit too fond of rouge and perfume, and the smell of lavender was overpowering as she sat by the king.

"Well enough, thank you." Alistair answered politely, as was appropriate.

"Marvelous!" She exclaimed, taking him by surprise, and immediately started blocking all the other guests' view of Alistair. "I've some questions I'd like to ask you." She cooed. "Nothing grave, you understand, just some things I've been wondering about lately."

Alistair was well-versed in court working enough to recognise there was no petty curiosity that prompted the discussion, but it was far too late to back out of the conversation for him by then.

…

…

…

"-it is a matter of bureaucracy I became interested in last summer, when Lady Dorn held her own wedding-"

"With the Antivan merchant, yes?" Alistair interrupted, in an attempt to move things along. "I remember that." He forced a laugh. "There were a lot of swords involved."

The Lady nodded eagerly, a smile flourishing on her pretty face. Well, it would have been pretty, were her eyes not so impatient and fiery. "Quite right. It was a beautiful thing." The way she said it just made it harder to keep up the happy mask. Noblewomen weren't usually so intense and passionate about weapons, were they? Maybe he just hadn't been paying enough attention, or maybe he'd grown too used to one particular noblewoman.

The same one who was making her way to them that moment.

Anora crossed the room in her exquisite dress faster than he'd ever manage even in his house clothes, and for a moment he couldn't help but stare. She was graceful, standing tall, not one hair out of place, as always, and as always, it was a sight to behold.

"Excuse me, Lady Izot, I hope I'm not interrupting." She cut in smoothly. "I was wondering if my husband would like to retire for the night. It is quite late." She smiled her cold, polished smile and waited for his answer.

For a short while, Alistair felt torn. On one hand, Anora was offering him a way out of a conversation he would rather not have, while on the other there were his duties to consider. A king couldn't run from one young woman asking strange question, a good king at least, and he'd vowed to work to become a good one.

"I think it would be rude to leave just yet." He responded, and tried to ignore the delight that bloomed on Lady Izot's face. He really hopped he would not live to regret his decision.

(How bad could it be? She'd run out of things to ask eventually, won't she?)

Anora didn't look happy with his decision, but obeyed anyway, much to Alistair's disbelief. He still half-expected his wife to try to bully him into cooperation in such situations, though he knew that might be a tad unfair towards Anora. She hadn't been as bad of a partner in their little arrangement as he'd initially imagined, after all.

He wondered if it was Anora who had been eager to escape the party, and felt some hint of guilt if that was the case.

"Now, as I was saying…" Lady Izot didn't wonder much about the interruption.

Alistair settled in for a long talk.

…

…

…

The carriage ride back home was quiet and quick, and Anora didn't say one word the whole way.

It wasn't really unusual, but Alistair still worried vaguely. She had been angry with him, and rightly so, earlier that day, and it was likely her irritation had returned.

He offered his hand to help her out of the carriage, intent on asking her about it, when they were intercepted by the chief of guards in the courtyard. Anora shooed them away, claiming tiredness.

He let the guard report and hurried after her, if only since it was so unlike Anora to dismiss herself so rudely.

She was brushing her hair when he got to their chambers, her body covered by a simple white nightgown, her skin practically glowing in the candlelight. He made a point of not looking at her as he walked inside the room, knowing he'd end up staring like a fool if he did.

Day Anora was beautiful, but night-time Anora was so much more, he'd always thought. He would have never imagined when he first met the woman that she could actually look human, but that was what she looked like after she took off the expensive fabric and the constricting hair-do.

Anora without her armour (because there was no other fitting way to call it) was human, touchable, breath-taking.

He wanted to hold her. He wanted-needed-longed…

Alistair tried to show some self-control and focused on his confining clothes instead of on the fact she was obliged let him do what he wanted with her. He found himself already abusing his privileges as a husband far more often than was proper as it was, considering their situation. He couldn't exactly help it, though, and all the nobles waiting for an heir didn't make it easy, either. Rather, they made it too easy to convince himself he was doing his duty by sleeping with his wife, when in actuality he just liked touching her.

Maker, he was weak.

He was a weak, weak man.

He managed to remember what it was he wanted to talk about, but Anora wasn't willing to cooperate. It was frustrating that they shared so much, had so much together, yet they still couldn't trust the other with their problems.

"I'm fine, Alistair."

He wasn't that daft, but he wasn't cruel either. He knew pushing rarely helped.

"Lady Izot is not your typical noble's daughter, is she?" He asked instead, trying to change the subject and let her breathe. The way her expression froze before she answered told him he might have stumbled upon part of the problem, though. He wasn't sure if he should be happy or not, so he pretended not to notice.

Briefly, he thought that maybe Anora had been jealous (of what though, of the attention he'd been giving her? would that really be enough), but he banished the thought as soon as it appeared. After all, what were the chances of that, of all things?

He chuckled, unable to help himself, and made a joke.

It seemed to do good, for whatever reason.

They didn't talk much after, but she let him hold her a bit closer that night. She was warm and soft and he dreamed of her instead of white noise and night terrors.

It was a nice change, even if it was Anora.

(Or maybe because it was her?

Such a frightening, frightening thought.)


End file.
